


Selfish

by WholockHobbit88



Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Age Play, Gen, Pacifiers, blankies, hurt/ comfort, non sexual age play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:23:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1387492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WholockHobbit88/pseuds/WholockHobbit88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beatrice finds it hard to be selfless like its expected of her in Abnegation. She has selfish desires that she hides from the rest of the world, ones she only indulges in the dark of the night when she is alone, though alone is the last thing that she wants. Contains non- sexual age play themes, so if that's not your cup of tea you might not want to read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Selfish

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this simply as a one-shot but if you guys would like me to do more I could do a series of one-shots maybe :) Enjoy!

It’s not easy being Abnegation. It’s not easy to be selfless; it goes against human nature. It’s not easy for me but it seems so easy for other in my faction. They spend all their days giving of their time, money and energy to others, thinking little of their selves. Me, I might try to be selfless but inside I’m selfish. Inside, it’s hard to give everyone else what they want when I’m thinking of what I want and what I need. I don’t tell anyone how I feel, how hard it is being Abnegation sometime, but I’m sure everyone can see that I don’t fit in. 

I wait until everyone else has gone to their rooms for the night before slipping into my own. The house is dark and quiet and it’s only at these times that I allow myself the reward, selfish as it is. I close the bedroom door behind me, locking it. My heart beats a little faster, excitement running through my veins and it makes me ashamed of myself before I even begin. Sometimes I think about what others would think if they knew about my secret, of my selfish rewards; I don’t like thinking about that. I know the judgment I would face and I have enough of that. 

Once the door is secure and the room is dark except for one small lamp, I pull the pins out of my bun, letting my hair fall in waves over my shoulders and back, getting a sense of freedom from the small act. It’s long, too long and soon my mother will be cutting it again. I’ll feel her fingers lightly in my hair as they cut off the excess so it falls to the floor, getting a small glance in the mirror. Once my hair is down, I free the rest of myself. I take off all of my clothes, left in nothing but my undershirt and underwear. It’s cold and I feel goose bumps along my skin but once I’m under the covers I’ll be warm and I prefer the small amount of cold to the freeing feeling I get. 

My bare feet pad along against the chilled floor, feeling my excitement peak as I walk to the dresser. I pull it back just enough from the wall to get back behind it, listening in the silence for a moment to assure that I didn’t alert anyone by moving the dresser. It’s still silent in the house and convinced of this fact, I pull out the blankie and pacifier I have hidden there, a smile forming on my lips. 

I used to hide them under my mattress; we live simple and have few possessions so there weren’t many options to hide something. This was working fairly well as a hiding place until about six months ago. My mother changed the sheets on my bed while I was at school and found the hidden items. She came to my room that night when I was doing homework and questioned me about them. I hadn’t even realized they were missing and I hadn’t prepared what to say. I couldn’t tell her the truth and muttered a lot of lame excuses ranging from “I don’t know how it got there” to “that’s not mine”. I know that she didn’t believe a word of it; she wore that expression that she always does when she is disappointed in me. But I simply couldn’t tell her the truth; it’s too embarrassing and she would be even more upset with me. I told her I was going to throw them away but it was a lie. I had only found a cleverer hiding place. If she ever finds them again, I suppose I’ll have to tell her the truth but I do what I can to assure that that doesn’t happen. 

I walk to my bed, climbing under the covers before indulging. I clutch the blankie to my face, feeling comfort in the simple act. The blanket it white and plain, like everything Abnegation. It’s soft and fluffy in the middle, a trim of soft satin around the edge. It wasn’t my baby blankie; mine is long since gone. It’s one I bought a few years ago and stuffed into my dress to sneak into my room. I press my face into the soft part of the blanket, wrapping the silk corner around my fingers; it’s calming. I don’t think about being selfless, I don’t think about how I fail miserably at so many things. I curl into a ball, making myself as small as possible and just feel little. 

The pacifier is clutched hard in my hand, making it sweaty and I don’t fight the urge and use the plain white guard to pop the pacifier into my mouth. The latex is smooth against my tongue, fitting just perfectly. With the blanket against my face and the pacifier in my mouth I feel calmer than I do in any other time. 

I’ve always been intrigued by baby items; I don’t know why, it’s just always been something else that set me apart from those around me. It’s something I hide; though I’m interested when I see a pacifier or bottle or blankie, I don’t let it be obvious. Until a few years ago I didn’t have any baby items to try on my own; how I mustered the courage to buy them, I’ll never know. I’d like to have more baby things, but they would be hard to come by and even harder to hide. One day, I tell myself, one day I’ll have those things.   
Fatigue begins to pull at my eyes as my body relaxes; the blankie is soft and warm and I focus on that as my mouth moves against the pacifier. I pull my covers up to my chin to make myself warmer. I imagine that the warmth of the covers is arms around me like I wish they were. I long for a hug but for it not to stop there; I wish someone would pull me into their arms and protect me from the world which seems so hard sometimes. I imagine the time as a small child that I’d had such a terrifying nightmare that I’d gotten sick. I went to my parents’ room and tugged on my mom’s arm until she had woken up. I thought she would be mad but she wasn’t; she pulled me into the bed with her and I’d curled into her chest, safe and warm. Physical displays of affection are rare in Abnegation and parents certainly don’t coddle their children. Memories like those aren’t as numerous as I’d like them to be. 

So, I make up things in my head. Tomorrow when I wake up and hide the blankie and pacifier behind the dresser, I’ll feel that familiar pang of embarrassment and shame. But right now, all I feel is calm as I imagine I’m small again, curled up next to my mother, safe and protected.


End file.
